


The Thief and The Gentleman

by idontevenlogic



Series: My Baby Shot Me Down [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aliases, Champagne, Disneyland shenanigans, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Sort Of, Spy!Iwaizumi, Thief!Oikawa, enemies that hardcore flirt, mild violence, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idontevenlogic/pseuds/idontevenlogic
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime is a top tier espionage agent for Seijoh Agency who makes a fatal mistake on a routine job after he meets the most beautiful man he's ever laid eyes on.Spy AU where the spy (Iwaizumi) gets a huge crush on the thief (Oikawa) that he's supposed to catch.





	The Thief and The Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to do a Spy AU for a while now, and once I got the idea I couldn't stop writing for even a second
> 
> Something to keep in mind while reading this is that since Iwaizumi is a spy, he goes by an alias, same with Oikawa who just wants to keep a lower profile while he commits this showy robbery.
> 
> Note: the weapons mentioned in this fic and future one-shots are all references to my top 3 anime that sort of go with the tone of this fic. Baccano, Cowboy Bebop, and Black Lagoon.

Parties of the formal sort were a bore, really, especially when you had no one to dance with.

Iwaizumi Hajime had never really liked missions like this all that much before, but what he did like was a hefty paycheck. So, he kept his mouth shut and quelled his displeasure for the time being. He leaned against one of the many Grecian-style pillars that were scattered about the makeshift ballroom throughout the museum and waited (although patience wasn’t really one of his strong suits), his Walther P99 digging into his side. In this attendance, he looked like any other guest, dressed to the nines in a fitting, black tuxedo and satin bowtie. He was about as casual as you could get, almost with a bored expression, swirling the alcohol in his glass round and round, absentmindedly. Like a rich bastard, that was his cover for this job.

His partner for the mission, though, Shimizu Kiyoko was dressed like a goddamn goddess in a long, sleeveless, black to blue ombre dress with fake diamonds stitched in to resemble stars in a night sky. She was on the other side of the ballroom, though, blending in as best she could. She did say that she found working events like this to be rather stuffy, so it was good to know that Iwaizumi wasn’t the only one suffering this evening. However, he was the only one missing date night. (Shimizu’s girlfriend, Yachi Hitoka, had said that of course she understood, but everyone still felt bad about interrupting their three year anniversary.)

Their cover stories and outfits were making it easy for them to assimilate with the rich. Shimizu was soft, well-mannered, attractive, and seemed easy enough to approach and make good conversation with. Meanwhile, Iwaizumi was playing up his favorite façade of pretending to be too important to talk to anyone uninteresting (i.e. someone who wasn’t their target for the evening), because he hated those kinds of people to begin with, thus it was easy to imitate. He just had to play up everything he hated about the arrogant. It seemed that everything was going smoothly, or the guests were too tipsy to really think too hard on how they had never seen Iwaizumi and Shimizu at events like this before.

A few women at the party had pointed at him, and giggled with flushed cheeks, and tried to approach, but their dates for the evening had promptly escorted them away. Good. Iwaizumi didn’t really need to be distracted by flirts during this mission. He wanted to finish this up and then go home for some rest and relaxation.

Just up the grand stairs of the main hall sat a display case for in attendance to gaze at and admire. A headpiece, a crown of sorts, believed to have belonged to the famous queen of Egypt, Cleopatra. It was an attractive piece, gold and blue accents. It was staying at the museum for the party, to celebrate its finding. Iwaizumi and Shimizu’s agency (an underground, international espionage company that dealt with small and large clientele from around the world) had been hired to ensure that the valuable crown wasn’t stolen during the party. Apparently, there were rumors that someone did want to steal the piece, and it was Iwaizumi’s job to make sure that it wasn’t. It was a mundane job, but the client, the archeologist hosting the party, had promised a good pay, so their boss sent from on high had put both Iwaizumi and Shimizu on the job.

Iwaizumi took another healthy swig of his champagne as he let his green eyes survey the room, like a cat on the hunt for a mouse to chase. “Everything seems to be going smoothly, for a party this scale, at least,” he said, low enough to only be heard on the earpiece he wore. “No one’s really gone up to the case and lingered.” Shimizu nodded to one of the comments given to her by a guest, but the slide of her eyes showed that she was agreeing with Iwaizumi’s observation. All clear on her end too, it seemed.

“Still, don’t let your guard down,” Matsukawa’s voice came in over the earpiece. There was the faint sound of typing, the handler probably switching between cameras from the safety of his hotel room just down the block. “I’ve got eyes on all the exits, elevators, and stairs. This really is so annoying, but the boss will be even more annoying if he finds out we even thought about slacking on a simple mission like this.”

“Can this even be considered a mission? We’re guarding jewelry. Call it what it is, a babysitting job,” Iwaizumi muttered ruefully. “Just last week I was in Russia tracking down a serial bomber and that ended in an action movie style car chase. _That_ was a mission, _this_ is child’s play.” Ah, Russia had been so nice, and the snow had been a welcome change from his previous job (just along the edge of the Saharan desert.)

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot I was working a mission with the biggest, baddest agent we got. _Mr. I’ve never failed a job before because I’m practically James Bond_ ,” Matsukawa snipped, but there was a grin in his voice. The handler and the agent liked to banter back and forth, and while it never got out of hand, it could be distracting.

“It’s not my fault that I’m so good at what I do. All I’m saying is that this isn’t a job for myself and Shimizu, more for Kageyama and Hinata, really. The small fry take care of small fry jobs, and the big shots handle the big money. Am I right or not?”

“Down, boys,” Shimizu scolded, eyeing Iwaizumi with the smallest smile from across the room while taking a small sip from her drink, something that looked like a merlot. “Iwaizumi, if anyone was looking at you just now, all they’d see is you arguing with your drink like it wronged you. Please be more conscientious of your surroundings or we’ll be caught.”

“So they’ll think I’m drunk. Big deal,” Iwaizumi replied, finishing up his glass and letting out a pleased exhale as the mild alcohol burned the slightest of tickles down his throat. “I wish I was drunk.”

Matsukawa laughed, so loudly over the earpiece that Iwaizumi nearly flinched at the sound, and Shimizu allowed herself a bit of a chuckle before turning back to the male guests seeking her attention. It seemed that the rest of the night would pass in a similar fashion, a few shared laughs between the operatives ( _“Matsukawa, are you really playing Galaga right now?” “I have to beat Kenma’s score!”_ ), an occasional check in, and mindless observation of the guests. The main hall was wide and spacious, meaning that Iwaizumi had to do an occasional walk around to keep a good look out for anyone suspicious. There was an band playing and taking requests, so a number of people had dragged their dates into the center of the floor and started to waltz the night away, making surveillance just a tad more tedious.

Again, Iwaizumi felt like the odd man out. Truth was, he was starting to get so bored he might just ask one of the girls looking his way if they wanted to dance, but he didn’t want to make small talk. He was a man of action, and all work and no play made him a grumpy agent. He preferred chasing bad guys through crowded streets, getting into a gunfight or two, or taking on an enemy base like a one man army. This was none of those. Oh well, at least he had alcohol (even if it was a shitty year), and it seemed like nothing of particular interest was going to happen until _he_ appeared.

He appeared out of nowhere, like an apparition, and immediately ensnaring Iwaizumi’s attention. Tall, lean, fair, mid-twenties. He had the absolute gall to walk with an easy gait like he owned the floor, dressed in a midnight blue suit, shined shoes, and a teal tie. Simple, but he made it look oh so good. His hair, a light maple, bounced with his stride, and his doe brown eyes, wide and open, scanned the room, a practiced smile in place that showed off his pearly white teeth. It was obvious that he was a charmer, a people pleaser.

“Iwaizumi, I can feel your thirst from here, and I’m at least a block away. Control yourself, geez.” Matsukawa’s voice cut into his thoughts out of nowhere.

Iwaizumi sputtered like he was going to attempt to deny it, startled by the sudden voice of his friend and handler, but his eyes were still glued on the man walking across the hall. He’d almost forgotten he was here on a mission; he was so distracted by the stranger. He looked away from the newcomer to the party and tried to look anywhere but right at him. “Sorry, but did you see him?”

“I see everything, Iwaizumi. That’s literally my job on this mission, to see everything.”

“He’s prettier than a goddamn honey trap.”

“Are you saying you want to lick honey off his naked body?”

Iwaizumi straightened his shoulders, fixing his tie as he chuckled, suddenly feeling very self conscious about his appearance. He was trying not to lose his goddamn mind and think about a one night stand that hot, so he turned away and tried to find something else to stare at. “Not without buying him a drink first. I’m a gentleman after all.”

“Yeah fucking right.”

“If you think he’s so attractive then I should let you know that he’s headed your way, Iwaizumi,” Shimizu said, so low and subtle that the two of them nearly missed what she’d said. He whirled on her and gaped, but she just raised her glass to him in a sort of _good luck_ fashion. She was smiling, obviously encouraging, and Iwaizumi knew it was pointless to get mad at Shimizu. She was literally the nicest person on the planet.

Sure enough, though, there was the attractive stranger, weaving his way in and around people that were trying to snag his attention. He spun around and away from a wealthy, older gentlemen, simultaneously grabbing two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. Smooth. Iwaizumi definitely appreciated how fluidly he moved, almost like he was just gliding through the crowd right towards him. Normally, Iwaizumi would turn down any sort of pick up lines or attractive strangers during a mission, but nothing was happening and he doubted that anything was ever going to happen at this party, so he figured he could cut loose just a little bit. What was the harm in that, really? After all, Shimizu and Matsukawa still had eyes on the guests.

“Hello there,” he greeted cheerfully, flashing Iwaizumi a blinding smile. He spoke with a slight Italian accent, and it made the edges of Iwaizumi’s lips quirk up just a little. He held out one of the tall glasses to Iwaizumi who accepted it gratefully, setting his other glass, the empty one, down. “Marco Stanfield, and you are?”

“Colt Wesson,” Iwaizumi replied, as if that had been his name his whole life. Thanks to Kenma, he knew his fake identity inside and out. Colt Wesson, son of an esteemed, American antiques collector, living in the lap of luxury, and had recently taken an interest in ancient artifacts like his father did.

“Handsome name,” Marco remarked, smirking. “It suits you extremely well. So, are you really here for Cleopatra’s newly discovered crown or . . . ?”

“The alcohol, mostly,” Iwaizumi replied, taking a sip of the champagne. “I was about to leave but it seems I’ve found some good company after all, so I think I’ll stick around for a bit longer.”

“Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa bemoaned. “Mission. Important. Guard jewels now. You can fuck the good looking stranger later.” Shimizu hummed in agreement with their handler.

“Finally, I meet a man with good taste. Drinking is definitely something I can get behind.” Marco leaned against the pillar along with Iwaizumi, his smile never faltering, and there was indeed a very suggestive lilt to his voice. He raised his glass and they clinked them together. “You seem a rare type, Colt. American, right? Everyone here is just gushing about how they have better jewelry or a prettier dress than someone else. It’s exhausting to be around so many boring people.”

“This seems like such a pointless event in the first place,” Iwaizumi agreed. “It’s going to a different museum in the end. So what’s so great about hosting a party to celebrate the crown _now_?”

“You would know,” Marco grinned. “After all, you and your dad get off to stuff found in tombs.”

“Oh, okay, I see what this is,” Iwaizumi laughed, taking another swig. Finally, some good champagne with a proper burn of class. “You do know who I am, and this isn’t just a fateful meet cute.”

“I like to do some research before parties like these. It helps to know who’s fun so you can invite them to your own events. I didn’t know if I was going to approach you or not but you are so much more handsome than I thought you would be.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he complimented. “You’re definitely easy on the eyes, and the tux is a nice touch.”

“Everybody knows that it’s the clothes that make the man.” Marco regarded him with brown eyes swirling into a black coffee color, darkened with hungry want. Someone called out to him, interrupting the trance, and both of them turned to see an elderly lady escorting her younger daughter over.

Marco waved to them out of politeness and said, just under his breath for only Iwaizumi to hear, “I have a hotel room not far from here. The Brook Resort. First room on the fourth floor. If you’re not doing anything later, I would be more than happy to let you in and we could get to know each other _much better_.”

“Sounds interesting,” Iwaizumi acknowledged with an appreciative nod. “I’ll see if I can clear my busy schedule and make time to _entertain_ your offer.”

“I look forward to it.” And like that Marco was gone, leaving Iwaizumi with a sly wink before walking off to meet with the mother and daughter.

As soon as he walked away, Iwaizumi sighed, pleased, and said, “You heard him. We have to finish this up quick so I can meet him in his hotel room.”

“Yeah, yeah, you stud. I gotta give you props, though, you managed to not screw the job up and get an invitation to a one night stand with a rich boy,” Matsukawa sighed. “Are you that certain this job is going to be a boy cries wolf kind of job?”

“No one has even looked at the damn crown all night,” Iwaizumi answered. “They’re too busy with themselves.”

“Like you hope you could get busy with this Marco Standfield.” Iwaizumi felt the boredom creep back in, and he huffed. “I know, buddy, I know. Just another hour or so until the museum throws everyone out, drunk or otherwise. Just a little longer.”

“Just a little longer,” Iwaizumi echoed, eyes locked on Marco’s retreating form.

There was something about him that Iwaizumi hadn’t picked up on in the heat of their suggestive banter. He was inanely familiar, from his easy smiles to the twinkle in his brown eyes. It hadn’t hit him before but now it crashed over him, turbulently, like a tsunami, so suddenly and hard. This Marco was definitely not of Italian descent. Sure, the accent was there, but it was more like it was obtained through practice rather than from living in the area. It wasn't obvious but he was Japanese but colored with travel and sun, and Iwaizumi could see it clearly, now that he wasn’t so distracted by the glitz and glamour the stranger projected like a mask. He was certain that he’d seen this Marco character before. A wanted poster? No. He would definitely remember if someone that eye-catching was a wanted criminal. So, where had he seen Marco Stanfield’s face before? He wracked his brain but came up with nothing. So, to be safe and without worrying his fellow operatives, Iwaizumi kept a bead on him out of the corner of his eye.

He was quick on his feet, this Marco, quick to deliver compliments and knee-weakening smiles that sent both men and women in attendance reeling.

“Something wrong, Iwaizumi?” Matsukawa inquired, proddingly. “You suddenly went quiet. Did you see something or someone suspicious?”

“No, just observing. I have a gut feeling now, is all.”

“That’s never a good sign,” Shimizu mused, none too enthusiastic. She trusted Iwaizumi’s instincts, as everyone else in the agency did. “That usually means that there’s a fight to be had.”

“Still, your behavior is a huge shift from just a few minutes ago,” Matsukawa sighed. “Keep me updated. Both of you.”

“Affirmative,” both agents replied in unison, with a tone of perfect professionalism.

It was during a sudden shift in the music, to something like a slow tango but with a dark and much more sinister edge to it, that Iwaizumi found himself swept off his feet, all too sudden for his tastes but exciting nonetheless. “Marco” had appeared at his side once again as soon as the music had started, dragging him onto the dance floor with a sun bright smile that Iwaizumi himself incapable of refusing. So, now, here they were, swaying back and forth in a frighteningly perfect tandem to an ominous jazz piece. It was almost like they were made to dance with each other, not just that Iwaizumi was good at dancing and reading his partners’ movements, but it was like they matched each other without even thinking about it.

All eyes in the hall were on them, where Iwaizumi’s hand lay on Marco’s waist and how easily Marco leaned into him, and with the heed brought a mixture of emotions.

Marco was completely at ease with everyone staring at them, and soaked up the attention like he was an actor on stage receiving a raucous applause. Meanwhile, Iwaizumi was having to stomach the unwanted scrutiny. He was used to hanging in the background, blending in and being the wallflower, and then leaping into action when it was required of him for a mission, but here he was, stuck in the middle of it and having to keep up an act on top of it all. Still, it was odd that he wasn’t more perturbed or vexed with the situation, but relaxed as he let the music guide both him and Marco. Also, he had a good view of the glass case where the crown lay.

“Really?” Iwaizumi asked, raising his eyebrows inquiringly at his dance partner as he was pulled back for another dance. He wasn’t complaining, though. “And here I thought we were going to save the theatrics for the bedroom.”

“This song just seems to fit us so well,” Marco responded airily. “Doesn’t it?”

Iwaizumi didn’t reply instantaneously, giving himself a few seconds to listen to the melody. The notes and beats finally struck a familiar chord with him and he looked up at Marco (who was only just a tad taller). “ _Venus in Furs_ by Nico and the Velvet Underground? A tad grim for our fun, though, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. I think it’s more romantic than people give it credit for.”

No one was singing the lyrics but Iwaizumi had heard the piano version before and he had an excellent memory, especially for strange cult classic songs like this, the ones you didn’t hear every day. He could practically hear the lazy, seductive drawl of Nico as he and Marco twirled around the room, steps in perfect synch.

“Well, aren’t you two just adorable,” Matsukawa teased through the earpiece. Iwaizumi sent a short glare up to the nearest security camera through which he knew his handler was most likely watching them. He heard Matsukawa chuckle at the reaction.

“You two would make a good pair, I think,” Shimizu agreed. He saw her move towards the staircase leading up to where eat crown rested. At the moment, there seemed to a be a guest stopping by to admire the headpiece, strawberry blonde hair, tall, and in his mid-twenties as well. Shimizu was keeping on eye on him, though, while leaning against the ornate, ivory banister, subtly glancing back and forth between Iwaizumi and the guest.

“Yeah, if Iwaizumi wasn’t an international espionage agent that, according to official government records died a tragic death right before his college graduation ceremony, they might be able to make it work. Too bad being a spy basically means you don’t get to have a love life outside of people in the agency.”

Iwaizumi wanted to tell them to pipe down and focus. With Marco so close, he might’ve been able to their radio communication. However, that didn’t seem to be the case as he prompted Iwaizumi to twirl him around again, his brown eyes never faltering from meeting the earthy green of Iwaizumi’s, and a carefree laugh tumbled past his tantalizing lips. This was fun, distracting even, but Iwaizumi wasn’t easily put off guard. While he was definitely feeling an attraction, he still didn’t rule out the mistrust bubbling inside him.

“Sure,” Marco continued, “the song is bit gothic in style, I’ll allow that, but it’s got a good ring to it, you know? You don’t need cake and flowers and absolute credibility with identities to have a good evening with another. Just look at us.” Iwaizumi reeled back and he stared at Marco, long and hard, whose smile had twisted into a tempestuous smirk, eyes dancing with mirth. “Now, Iwaizumi Hajime, we can either get out of here, you and me, and pretend that nothing is going to happen, or we can skip the pleasantries, honey, and see how _dazzling_ I look in that crown.”

“What the fuck kind of flirting—” Matsukawa started.

Iwaizumi reached for the gun in the hostler behind his jacket. “You’re here to—”

“Makki, I was right! Cover me!” Marco shouted, turning towards, who Iwaizumi was certain was an accomplice, the strawberry blonde. There was a gasp from the guests around them at the sudden outburst.

The partner nodded hurriedly, flashing a peace sign to Shimizu before tossing a grenade into the air between them, startling agent to a halt. Iwaizumi shouted for her to take cover but there was no explosion. Thank god. There was a horrible hissing sound that followed it, like a thousand snakes, and white puffs of smoke began to fill the room, all the way up to the ceiling. Iwaizumi couldn’t see, but he managed to grab ahold of Marco who was currently writhing like a rat in his grasp. In his ear, he could just barely hear Matsukawa shouting for information on the situation over the sounds of the guests screaming and fleeing for the exits.

“Who the hell are you?” Iwaizumi demanded, he pushed “Marco” to the ground as roughly as he could manage, trying to knock the air out of the thief. There was no reply other than a giddy giggle. “Matsukawa! Two robbers! I have one, but we need to know where the other one is!”

“I don’t have a visual on any of you!” Matsukawa replied. “Keep ahold of him. Shimizu, can you handle the other one?!”

“He’s gone!” Shimizu broke it to them over the earpiece. She sounded rushed, a little frantic, and they could hear her running and pushing people aside. “When there was no explosion, I dove in after him but he was already gone.”

“What? How could he just have vanished?” Iwaizumi growled, trying to secure “Marco” into a good headlock to try and drive him into unconsciousness.

“He didn’t just vanish. He’s always got my back.” Iwaizumi didn’t even get a chance to question “Marco”’s sudden, frighteningly clear reply, because he was suddenly hit over the head and knocked to the ground, Marco finally managing to rip himself from the agent's steel grasp. Iwaizumi's vision blurred, even more messily because of the surrounding smoke. His head was killing him, throbbing in pain like an open wound.

“Iwaizumi?” Matsukawa shouted over the line.

“Are you okay, Oikawa? I didn’t hear a gunshot,” came a new voice.

“I’m fine, Makki, he just really got really handsy towards the end there. I don’t blame him, though, who could keep their hands _off_ me?”

“Oh, shut up, you show off. I’ll distract the other agent while you work your magic.”

“You’re the best! See you later, Iwa-chan!” There was a brief moment where Iwaizumi recognized a soft press of lips against his cheek and then they were gone. Unlike the sound of rushing, panicked footsteps, the sound of this Oikawa’s were like he was skipping, like he was just merrily making his way down the street.

“Iwaizumi, what’s going on? Talk to me!” Matsukawa shouted. “Who was that?!”

“Agent Iwaizumi might be incapacitated! I’m going in after him!” was Shimizu’s reply.

Iwaizumi was about to bolt to his feet when there was another harsh blow to his head. He still wasn’t unconscious, and he started to extend his hand for his gun which had skidded just out of reach. “Man, I gotta give you props, Iwaizumi Hajime, a guy like you just doesn’t stay down for long.” The third blow was the final one, and Iwaizumi was sent spiraling into a painful unconsciousness. “Also, Oikawa, you really have to talk to your guy about those stupid mickeys! Those agents weren’t even close to falling asleep when I got here!”

* * * * * *

Iwaizumi had one hell of a headache when he woke up, resting with an ice pack on the bump on the left side of his head. Matsukawa was at the table in their hotel room, typing away at his laptop, his caterpillar brows drawn in with vexation, nostrils flaring ever so slightly to show just how pissed he was. The room was pitch black, the only light were the ones emanating from the parking lot lights outside their windows and the dull, blueish-white haze from his handler’s computer. He had been expecting the darkness, as that’s what both Matsukawa and Iwaizumi preferred, to imitate that of an empty room to discourage any baddies headed their way. At least the bed was cozy with plush pillows so lush that Iwaizumi didn’t feel any ache in his neck, like he usually did after having slept in a hotel bed.

“You’re awake,” Matsukawa noted, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him. “Shimizu’s headed back to headquarters, hoping to still meet up with Yachi. Mission was a bust, and we’re definitely in for it when we get back.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t even listening to his friend. Oikawa. He had the name of a very real person now, a very real person to direct his perpetually short temper towards. The name felt so familiar, tasted familiar, when he spoke it aloud over and over again, trying to unlock a memory buried somewhere deep inside his cranium, which earned him an odd look or two from Matsukawa. However, it just brought up more questions than what he’d just started off with, and he still had no solid answer that gave him something to go off of. He reached for his phone on the bedside table, texted Shimizu to ask if she knew anything, and texted Kenma for him to look up the name. If anyone could find him, it would be Kozume Kenma (nothing online or locked in any database escaped his watchful eyes).

“Have you ever heard of an Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked offhandedly.

Matsukawa snorted, a humorless laugh following suit. “Which one? The main-belt asteroid? The railway station? Director? Astronomer? Figure skater? There’s plenty of Oikawas. Take your pick.”

“Obviously none of those,” Iwaizumi grumbled. “He’s the slippery type. He’s bound to be keeping a low profile. I’m asking if there’s anyone on the wanted lists that we’re sent by the CIA, FBI, PSIA, and the rest that are looking for an Oikawa?”

“I already looked, just in case you would ask, but no. There’s nobody matching his description that’s a wanted man.”

“What about his friend?”

“Facial recognition software didn’t recognize either of them,” Matsukawa huffed, finally leaning away from his screen, to look at Iwaizumi. He rubbed his eyes to drive the sleep away, trying to keep himself awake. “Either they were wearing the best masks in the world or they’re too off the grid for me to find them.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Iwaizumi groaned, falling onto his back once again, landing on the plush mattress.

“Ditto,” his handler agreed. “I know you probably don’t want to, but I have to tell you the worst part.”

The mission was a complete failure. The crown had been stolen, the glass box it had been sitting in was perfectly intact, not a crack in sight, and the lasers that had surrounded the crown and had been in place before party were still up and running long after the smoke cleared. So, no alarm had been triggered even as the priceless head ornament had been stolen. This Oikawa was good. No fingerprints to run, and he had even left a calling card: a little drawing in teal paint of a crown, simple, but purposefully left to make them all feel foolish, to add insult to injury.

Frustrated with himself at the news and curiosity gnawing at him like a rabid animal, Iwaizumi got to his feet, despite the throbbing in his head, as if he were still being hit with a blunt object. Matsukawa advised him to rest so they could fly out early tomorrow, but he didn’t understand. Rest was intangible unless Iwaizumi had, at least, made an effort to find some answers for himself while he waited for Kenma to text back with something, anything, no matter how unlikely.

“Where would you go, anyway?” Matsukawa asked, folding his laptop down. “It’s late and he’s probably long gone. We’ll find him, just not tonight.”

“He told me that he was staying at the Brook Resort,” Iwaizumi answered, reaching into their weapons case and pulling out the first gun he grasped. His Ruger P85. Fully loaded, as he liked it to be. “He might be long gone, but maybe he left something else. DNA, something. I’ll come back right away if I don’t find anything, all right?”

“You better or Daichi will have your head.”

“Oh no, we can’t have _Daichi_ getting angry with us, then I’ll really feel bad.”

“Your sarcasm is noted, but not very appreciated.”

Iwaizumi gave him a quick, mock salute, which his friend returned, before stepping out of the room and making his way towards the Brook Resort, after having to look up the address on his phone. The European night air was brisk, making him wrap his windbreaker closer around himself as he walked with haste. He knew he could try to let this go, but his stubbornness was persistent. Everyone has a mission or two that are a bust, but those people weren’t Iwaizumi. He had never failed a single mission in his entire career as an agent. Whether he was rescuing someone during a violent interrogation or chasing someone down who held valuable information, he didn’t do failure. It wasn’t in his nature. He was still the best agent the Seijoh Agency had to offer, a complete package, a good fighter, interrogator, infiltrator, good at analyzing data, everything. This situation was unprecedented, but, then again, he’d let his guard down around a pretty face.

A stupid mistake, but one he wouldn’t let drag him down. He was still Iwaizumi Hajime, one hell of a fucking badass spy.

Still . . . Oikawa.

Iwaizumi couldn’t deny how easily he’d been drawn to the thief, how easily he’d fit with him, how his confidence had matched Iwaizumi’s. He could still hear that giddy stream of laughter in his ears from when they had danced rattling around in his brain, somehow providing a sense of security. It hadn’t been a false laugh, or practiced. It had been a sudden outburst of pure joy, and it was nice to remember it that way. Still, he felt so fucking stupid for falling for a ruse like that, something out of practically every spy movie ever. Temporarily infatuated with a criminal. That was a new one for his track record, but it would be just his goddamn luck. Iwaizumi wasn’t in the business of lying to himself, so he just decided to accept that _Yeah, I wanted to get into bed with a thief that will put the first dent in my resume_ , and move on with his life and job.

The Brook Resort was a tall building, defiantly a place for the rich to stay in, with a sort of nostalgic architecture, but it was definitely a party hotel. There was a glass elevator that took you from the check in/check out floor to another first floor. Whereas the first half of the first floor was bathed in soothing blue lights as you walked in, the second half to the first floor was a circus of neon lights, alcohol, and music. This was not his scene, by a long shot. To get out of there as quickly as possible, he made up some lie about being Oikawa’s friend (picking up something he left in the hotel room) so he could acquire a card key from the front desk.

He went up the glass elevator, which provided some temporary solace from the thumping music just outside, but as soon as the doors behind him opened, he was dragged right back into the fray of drunk, partying teenagers on their spring break. He managed to avoid any troubling encounters and found himself in a hallway of elevators ( _just how much of a show off was this hotel?_ ). He slipped into one of the few compartments that didn’t have a line and took it up to the fourth floor.

Finding the first door was easy, getting in was easy thanks to the card key. Thankfully, no one was interested enough to stop him and make conversation, or ask why he was going into a room that wasn’t his own. He really didn’t have patience for more strangers or for a picking a lock (and he’d left his skeleton card key in his bag back at his own hotel). He walked into the dark room and flipped on the light switch, finding that it flooded the room in a soft turquoise rather than your usual, run-of-the-mill lighting. The switch just above the door gave the occupant the option to color their room however they desired. For some reason, Oikawa had chosen that light blue that reminded Iwaizumi of the sky over Miyagi, where he’d lived out his childhood.

The room could almost be called untouched, nothing that would’ve already been there before a guest’s arrival had been moved in a specific way. However, the TV was on, a French news station reporting on the robbery of Cleopatra’s stolen crown, but the volume was on mute. There was an CD player on the bedside table. It was on and playing a song, but it was on mute as well. Curious. Iwaizumi decidedly ignored the TV and pressed the button to unmute the music. He didn’t recognize the piece right away, but it slipped into the furtherest corner of his mind as he noticed a small piece of paper, neatly folded in half and casually resting on the grandest pillow at the head of the bed.

He picked up the paper, gingerly, like it might bite him.

_My dearest Iwa-chan,_

Iwaizumi ground his teeth together at the sight of the newly given nickname, throughly nettled. Iwa-chan, really? Just who the fuck did this Oikawa think was? God, he could practically feel the air of pompousness Oikawa had carried about him when he’d written this, as he continued to read further on. He found that he had to read and needed to reread the message until he finally understood the entirety of the words.

_I’m really sorry to have to disappear on you so soon, but who knows? Maybe we’ll see each other again, only if you can catch me, of course. No one ever has, mainly because I’m just that good at what I do (kind of like you), but I have a wonderful feeling that you’re just the sexy agent to catch me. We’re both a tad full of ourselves because of our unblemished track records, but I think it’s time we finally challenge ourselves to a good game of cat and mouse._

_Catch me if you can,_  
_Oikawa Tooru_

_P.S. I’m honestly surprised and, really, a little hurt that you didn’t recognize me._

Iwaizumi’s mouth dropped open in bewilderment as he read the post scriptum. So, he was right. He had known Oikawa Tooru before their encounter this evening. Oh, this was going to bother him more than anything. There was nothing worse than knowing you’re absolutely right about something and not having any recollection as to how you’re right. So, wordlessly, he left the room, the paper crumpling in his palm as he started to wrack his brain even harder. As he left the hotel far behind him, he could still see the words in front of his eyes, in between the cracks in the pavement he walked across, and he could still hear the music from that room trailing after him like smoke from a cigarette. He walked automatically, like he was on empty.

Back in his hotel room, Matsukawa was sound asleep on his own bed which was the furthest from the window, snoring and his fingers twitching like was still typing even in his slumber. Iwaizumi could see blips of light from airplanes and ruefully considered how Oikawa Tooru was probably sky high right now, safely out of his reach.

He didn’t sleep. Every time he tried to close his eyes, there was Oikawa Tooru. When he was wide awake, he replayed all of Oikawa’s words and all of his actions, every movement and twitch, searching for something that would give him all the answers he needed. He would check his phone to see if he got any new information from Kenma as to who the hell Oikawa Tooru was, who this thief was that had duped Iwaizumi. He figured that it might go smoother for the computer genius since he’d given him a first name to work with, but so far, there was nothing.

When he finally did sleep, as the sun was creeping over the tops of the buildings surrounding their hotel, he was haunted by the hypnotic swirl of Oikawa Tooru’s toffee eyes.

* * * * * *

It was a week later, with no new information on Oikawa Tooru and his partner in crime surfacing, that Sawamura Daichi called Iwaizumi and Matsukawa into his office, saying that Kenma received some interesting news. Their Director’s office was a large space, a mahogany desk sitting dead center, behind which Daichi sat on a royal, leather swivel chair. On the walls hung the portraits of previous directors, standing tall and firm in their morals, and frames that held the newspaper article clippings of the most successful cases the Seijoh Agency had completed. One of Iwaizumi’s missions rested on that wall, a case he was still incredibly proud of. A smuggling ring he’d broken up that’s primary goods were humans. The only people that had died the day Iwaizumi entered the scene were the bad guys.

Daichi didn’t greet them with his usual firm but encouraging grin, but, instead, he nodded for them to turn their attention towards Kenma who was resting on the couch on the right side of the room. He was clicking his mouse very once in a while, eyes wide and attentive as color hazes washed over him from the screen.

“Is it another mission?” Iwaizumi asked, wary of _their_ understanding of the situation and _his_ lack thereof. He gave Kenma a wave out of greeting, who replied with an almost shooing motion. “I’m up for whatever you want to throw at me.”

“I can have Iwaizumi suited up and ready to go in less than five minutes if it’s really dire,” Matsukawa added, a bit of a brag. He’d been Iwaizumi’s handler for so long that they worked together incredibly well, almost well enough to read each other’s mind. They could gather their equipment faster than anyone else could, able to throw each other their belongings without having to say a word and catch them just as easy.

“Not a mission,” Daichi replied, waving in Sugawara who suddenly walked in behind them, looking as equally confused as Iwaizumi and Matsukawa felt.

“Daichi?” Suga asked. “What’s going on?” He looked at everyone who had gathered there and smiled, a tad befuddled, continuing on to say, “My surprise birthday party isn’t until next week.”

“How did you know—? Never mind. Everyone, please look at the projection,” Daichi said. He motioned for their technician to come forward. “Kenma, if you could.”

“Fine. This is the closest you all will ever get to my laptop, so savor this moment,” Kenma mumbled. “Also, I beat your most recent high score on _Galaga_ , Matsukawa. Are you even trying?” He was a quiet speaker, letting his smarts and analytical skills do most of the talking more than half the time. He placed his laptop onto a cleared space on Sawamura’s desk, plugged in a wire to connect his device to the projector and turned it on.

Matsukawa grumbled and crossed his arms, at the thought of his score being so easily beaten once again, to no one else’s surprise. Then, the wall behind Daichi’s desk, a plain space used for briefings like this all the time, was lit up with a huge picture the would’ve been hilarious in any other circumstance.

“Is that who I think it is?” Iwaizumi asked, his temper beginning to flare up at the sight of the thief he’d recently dubbed as his nemesis.

“That is Oikawa Tooru, yeah,” Kenma nodded.

“On a water slide?” Matsukawa asked, dumbfounded.

“Splash Mountain at Disneyland, California, to be precise,” the hacker shrugged, settling into one of the two chairs that were placed in front of Daichi’s desk and curling himself into a ball, “but, yeah, sure. A water slide.”

“Is he holding the—?” Sugawara started, pointing at the picture.

“Cleopatra’s priceless crown? Yes. He is.”

Iwaizumi took a breath before speaking, enunciating each word slowly and bitterly, “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

Iwaizumi stared at the image, unblinking, hands planted on the desk and leaning forward to get a better look at the stupid picture. It was indeed Oikawa Tooru, in a pair of turquoise swim trunks, a red shirt that read _My First Trip To Disneyland!_ , and a pair of Mickey Mouse ears for a hat. Oikawa was holding the crown up by his face and giving a peace sign towards the camera while his partner, the strawberry blond, was giving them the bird and sticking his tongue out. If no one knew better, it would’ve looked like two tourists simply having a blast at Disneyland, however, for those who did know better, it was an incredibly vexing photograph to have to look at.

Save for Matsukawa, who apparently found the image to be quite comical. He was hiding his chuckles behind his hand, in an attempt to subdue them, and eventually had to look away, shoulders shaking as he tried to keep from laughing aloud hysterically.

“Oh, and that’s not the end of it,” Kenma commented. He pressed the right arrow on his keyboard and up popped another image. This picture had Oikawa and his friend wearing _Indiana Jones_ hats and posing like they were sneaking around the park. The next five pictures were of the two of them sneaking up on the crown, Oikawa reenacting the famous bag of sand for the idol scene from the first movie but with the crown instead, and then finally a video, which Kenma played.

Oikawa was standing on a bench right outside the _Indiana Jones_ ride, raising the crown skyward, while his buddy Makki was sitting on the bench and mimicking the actions of rowing a boat. “This belongs in a museum!” Oikawa announced in English, with perfection pronunciation (further pissing off Iwaizumi) but in a shitty Harrison Ford impersonation. He watched as Oikawa hopped off the bench and jogged a few steps up to whoever was holding the camera for them. “But I stole it from a museum,” he whispered, leaning in close.

The girl who was holding the camera, giggling flirtatiously, and praised Oikawa for how funny he was. He simply thanked her, something that seemed so genuine that Iwaizumi was afraid that it was, that maybe Oikawa Tooru wasn’t such a bad person all the time. She must’ve walked off because Oikawa waved enthusiastically and then turned back to the camera, holding it up to get his good side (which was all of them, in Iwaizumi’s opinion). “I bet you weren’t expecting this, were you, Iwa-chan?”

“No,” Iwaizumi said, as if Oikawa could hear him. “I definitely wasn’t expecting this, you idiot.” It frustrated him even further still. He needed to learn more about this Oikawa Tooru if he really stood a chance of finding him and catching him. However, his cleverness and unpredictability were undoubtedly intriguing, and, furthermore, attractive. Iwaizumi didn't think he would be doing himself any favors in attempting to deny those aspects of his enemy.

Oikawa Tooru was very attractive, from his flawlessly long eyelashes to his quick thinking mind. Maybe if they weren’t at odds, weren’t on opposite sides of morals, Iwaizumi would’ve asked him out and they might’ve even made a good pair. Maybe they would’ve been the ultimate team working under Seijoh.

“Anything else?” Sugawara asked, moving to sort of half sit on Daichi’s desk. Beside their director, sneaking his hand down to intertwine his and Daichi’s fingers and give his hand a squeeze, for support. “Any pictures of them on, say, Hyper Space Mountain?”

“There’s another video of Oikawa and his friend, whom I’ve recently identified as Hanamaki Takahiro, on the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ ride,” Kenma replied. “They were holding up the stolen crown and singing the pirate song. No time for that, though, because I have a feeling Oikawa will get irritated if we keep him waiting any longer.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as Kenma switched screens on his computer and brought up one of a live video feed of Oikawa Tooru, lounging on the balcony of some resort and playing on his phone, still very clearly in California. The crown of Cleopatra was perched perfectly on his head, the strings of golden beads hanging from the headpiece framing his face into something regal and sharp. He was fucking gorgeous, even in baggy sweat pants and white shirt with a green alien head printed across the front, and it shocked Iwaizumi that someone so beautiful could be so underhanded and a thief. The minute their hacker unmuted the speaker and cleared his throat, Oikawa bounced to life, directing his attention onto them.

The minute he laid eyes on Iwaizumi his expression softened for a split second before his mask of confidence and mockery overcame him one again. “Agents,” he said, straightening himself up and looking at Daichi, lowering his voice to mock their professionalism.“I assume you received all the important documents?”

“Yeah, those Disneyland phots were super important,” Daichi replied, his voice dripping venomously with sarcasm. “I assume you had a reason for contacting us?”

“I just wanted to know if Agent Iwaizumi wanted to accept my challenge or not?” Oikawa asked. He turned to Iwaizumi and grinned, whimsically, like he was trying not to appear too excited but couldn’t help it anyway. He tapped the crown and batted his long, coppery eyelashes. “What do you think, Iwa-chan? I’m simply dazzling in this crown, aren’t I?”

Iwaizumi hate to admit, loathed to admit it, actually, but Oikawa Tooru did look positively dazzling in that stolen crown of his. “You look all right,” he allowed, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

“ _Just_ all right?” Oikawa looked almost offended by his response.

“Personally, I think you’ll look better in handcuffs.”

“ _Oh_?” Oikawa smirked, playfully raising an eyebrow. “Well, well, well. Now, you’re speaking my language, Special Agent Iwa-chan.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that at all,” Iwaizumi snapped, trying to quell the heat crawling up his neck. He could not blush in front of everyone here, much less, Oikawa Tooru, all of which would tease him about it mercilessly for the rest of his life. He knew he couldn’t intimidate Oikawa, so he was going for the strong, undaunted approach, so blushing was an absolute no in this conversation.

But Oikawa just laughed, that melodic string of giggles that made Iwaizumi’s heart thud loudly in his chest. “I guess I’ll find out what you mean when you catch me, then,” he said, “if you can.” He was just so fucking confident, wasn’t he? He wasn’t even trying to hide his location anymore, wasn’t hiding his name, or even what he looked like. They had everything they needed, yet he just sat there, enjoying the breeze and smirking at Iwaizumi.

“I can catch you,” Iwaizumi replied, crossing his arms over his chest and stepped closer to the projection. Oikawa smiled down at him, the both of them accepting the challenge one other laid down. “No one has ever escaped me before.”

“I guess I’ll have to be your first, then. I’m gonna run circles around you, Iwa-chan.” And with that Oikawa Tooru turned off the feed and the screen turned black.

All the while they had been talking, Kenma had been typing away, busy and pulling windows of information, cataloguing Oikawa’s voice, his appearance, and his motivations however vague they were. He also was pulling up time tables and schedules, and another window was pinpointing a location, revealing a map with a small blip just on the edge of California.

Kenma’s phone pinged and he looked down. “That fucker just beat my high score in _Galaga_ ,” he whispered, harshly for his usual calm manner, like he’d just witness a horrible betrayal. “Iwaizumi you have to catch him now.”

“I was already going to,” Iwaizumi replied, rolling his eyes, but grinning at how focused Kenma was now, clicking away faster than before, his nose scrunched up in determination. It was an insult to try and beat Kenma at any video game, ancient or otherwise.

“He’s still in California, at the Anaheim Resort, based on the background of the video,” the hacker informed him. “If you can be ready to leave within the hour, Iwaizumi, there’s a jet in our hanger that’s headed for Los Angeles but can easily drop you off in Anaheim on its way.”

“Sir?” Iwaizumi turned to Daichi, just to get a confirmation. He was going to go anyway, but he would prefer it if his director gave him the green light to do whatever was necessary.

“Hey, who am I to keep you from a Disneyland date?” Daichi replied, shrugging his shoulders and finally dissolving into chuckles, much to everyone’s relief. Their director, because he was so young, was getting a lot of pushback from the higher ups and they knew it was draining, so they were happy to see that it hadn’t taken a huge toll on him yet.

“Remember, Iwaizumi, don’t put out on the first date, make him work for it,” Suga teased.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Iwaizumi grumbled before leaving the room in an embarrassed huff.

His handler followed him in the hallway, matching Iwaizumi quick pace, and they headed towards the equipment room, where they could pick out their gear and weapons. “You are _so_ into him,” Matsukawa laughed.

“No, I’m not,” Iwaizumi replied, partially a lie.

His handler patted him on the back, reassuringly. “Relax, my man, we’re all just teasing you. We know there’s no way that you’d actually get a crush on a criminal. You’re a good agent with his head on straight. You’ll catch the guy and we’ll sit back with some popcorn as we watch him get dragged off to whatever prison has jurisdiction over him.”

Iwaizumi, nodded, almost numbly, because he didn’t like how the thought of Oikawa Tooru in prison didn’t sit well with him at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed the first one-shot of this series! Please let me know if you'd really like to see more of this AU, it would mean a lot!
> 
> Iwaizumi's alias is a reference to an actual gun and a company. A Colt Patterson .36 and the Smith&Wesson designs.
> 
> Oikawa's alias is a reference to the explorer Marco Polo, and is also a reference to Claire Stanfield from Baccano (my all time favorite anime).
> 
> Each one-shot or short multi-chapter for this series will have different references sprinkled throughout.
> 
> [The Song They Dance To: Venus In Furs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-vHDnAlPDKk)


End file.
